A collection of automotive stuff, restaurant/travel-related items and personal observations; mostly a lot of claptrap, really.

Nashville

Taken a few years ago at some joint on Broadway in Nashville, this was one of several photos with good-looking girls I had never laid eyes on before. It wasn't my birthday, but the Nissan crew was telling every attractive female we encountered that it was. Here's to getting older!

Friday, December 18, 2015

I'm not the kind of guy who turns his
nose up at the opportunity for a two-day drive simply because I've
made the same trip a few times in the past. That the trip in question
wound up in Albuquerque, where I find myself at least twice a year
visiting family, doesn't mean I shouldn't go, should it? I mean, it's
not the destination; it's the journey, right? Right.

That's even more the case when
Chevrolet hands over keys to its redesigned 2016 Camaro SS to make
this 650-mile jaunt. Yes, sign me up, please.

It was all part of Chevy's “Find New
Roads” cross-country media drive. The way it worked was Chevy
planned routes from the Atlantic to the Pacific coasts. Included
cities actually were scattered all over the place. To cover so much
geography, Chevy established two distinct routes broken into 500- to
700-mile segments, Chevy invited motoring media to choose a leg to
drive. There were 8 to 10 Camaros and their media drivers per
segment.

I know it's hard to imagine, but Chevy
didn't invite me on this epic event. Nope. I suspect I don't tweet or
Instagram enough to rate a seat on such a historic drive. In today's
social-media-driven marketing world, most carmakers don't have much
use for media types who can string together complete sentences. I'm
pretty much over it. Despite Chevy passing me over – no doubt for
someone who can't drive a manual transmission – I managed to
finagle my way on to the event.

Chevy offered actual invitees the
opportunity to bring along a significant other or a photographer. My
craft-beer buddy Keith Griffin, who did score an invite, offered me
the right-hand seat in his Camaro. I think it was as his
photographer; at least I hope it was. We will keep it on the down low
that I drove about half our segment.

After flying us into Dallas, Chevy gave
each Camaro in our group 36 hours to complete the trip to
Albuquerque. Chevy provided each driver with a prepaid Visa card for
gas and incidentals like snacks and meals. Each Camaro was equipped
with OnStar, which we used to guide us from one point to the next, as
well as as our concierge to book our hotel rooms for the night with a
Chevy credit card.

To spice things up, Chevy also
concocted a contest: a scavenger hunt of sorts. Points were awarded
for engaging in all manner of social-media posts on various
social-media sites, as well as visiting specified sites along the
way. Huge point awards were tied to going a little out of the way to
include states not really on the route. One goal of the event was to
include all 50 states. Racking up at least 1,000 miles on the odo
also garnered a big point award.

Chevy treated us to dinner with
assorted engineers and Camaro wonks at our hotel near the Dallas-Fort
Worth airport on our arrival night. Eager to finally get behind the
wheel, our 7:30 breakfast the next morning was the only thing
standing in our way. We were on the road by 8:30.

Who wouldn't be eager to test the
mettle of this land-locked jet fighter? Generating 455 horsepower, as
well as 455 lb-ft of asphalt chomping torque, the Camaro SS's
6.2-liter V8 employs either a six-speed manual or eight-speed
automatic transmission to turn the rear wheels. From a standstill,
the automatic-equipped Camaro SS with its steering wheel-mounted
shift paddles slingshots to 60 miles per hour in a scorching 4.0
seconds! Our red Camaro SS had the automatic. The zero-to-60 time is
by Chevy's stopwatch, but I don't doubt it for a second.

What dazzled us right out of the chute
was just how quiet and well mannered this coupe is. Working our way
along congested freeways and a surface road or two in our Dallas –
well, actually our Grapevine – escape, this Camaro was remarkably
driveable. Chevy engineers managed to make the chassis 28% stiffer
and more than 220 pounds lighter than the 2015 Camaro. This not only
contributes to the car's quietness, but enhances handling and fuel
economy, too. The government estimates that with the 6.2L and
automatic tranny, the Camaro will deliver 17 mpg city, 28 mpg highway
and 20 mpg combined. We found this pretty accurate by our coupe's
trip computer.

Although they won't accelerate off the
line as the Camaro SS does, there will also be versions with a
275-horsepower 2-liter turbo four-cylinder and a 335-horsepower
3.6-liter V6.

Sure, the big story – at least for
serious car guys – about Camaro SS is its performance and
acceleration, but Chevy has upped the ante inside as well. Packed
with all manner of connectivity technology – an available
eight-inch color touchscreen dominates the dashboard's center, while
a standard eight-inch monitor fills the center on the instrument
cluster – the cabin is amazingly comfortable. Interrupted by lunch,
a couple of fuel stops, a pit stop or two for personal biological
imperatives, and a couple more stops at scavenger-hunt sites, we
spent a solid nine hours on day one in the Camaro's highly supportive
seats. My age is north of 60, and I was no more fatigued than had we
only driven across Dallas.

Keith and I had explored various routes
we might take to Albuquerque both in e-mails and face-to-face
discussions at the Miami Auto Show a few days prior to landing in
Texas. Having dated a Dallas lady for a couple of years, I made the
drive between Dallas and family in Albuquerque several times. I knew
there wasn't much to see or do along the direct route that would take
us on Route 287 through Wichita Falls and on up to Amarillo where we
would pick up I-40 for a direct shot into the Duke City.

We really didn't have much time to mess
around taking a more southern route. Keith had an early afternoon
flight out of Albuquerque the next day. Whatever we were going to do,
we had to do by noon. A week or so before the event Chevy provided a
list of a few interesting things to see and do scattered around the
area between our starting and stopping points. These also wound up
being point earners on the scavenger hunt. Only two of them were
really doable for us in our gallop along the roads we planned to use.
I suggested we also stop at the Big Texan near Amarillo for lunch.
Not that either of us were going to accept the 72-oz-steak challenge,
but I had never been and thought it would be fun.

Much of what little preplaning we had
done went out the window once Chevy announced the rules of the
scavenger hunt at the first-night's dinner. Calling an audible,
team-captain Keith decided we should sweep directly north, picking up
I-40 in Oklahoma to earn the 350 bonus points that state represented.
In for a penny in for a pound, I suggested we might as well
cannonball all the way up to Colorado and pick up that state's 350
points, too. We could then drop due south into Santa Fe on I-25.

Game on! Taking a short detour to snap
a photo of the Camaro in front of the Texas Motor Speedway sign in
Fort Worth, we blasted up Rt 287, picking up Rt 81 in Bowie. We
grabbed I-40 just west of Oklahoma City and zero'd in on Amarillo.
The Big Texan was still our lunch target.

Somewhere in Oklahoma we stopped for a
leg stretch and some gas. Keith used his Chevy-issued card to pay for
the fuel and a few snacks. That was the last we saw of the card. Lost
like last year's Easter Egg, it was not to be found. Somewhere
between swiping the card in Oklahoma and sitting down for lunch in
Amarillo, the card mysteriously disappeared. At that point I was very
happy playing Gilligan to Keith's captain of our team. What me worry?
Hell, Chevy barely knows I'm here.

We arrived at the Big Texan about 1:30
and chowed down on some barbecue. We burned roughly an hour eating
and meandering around the restaurant, sections of which look like
your grandfather's garage. Man, there's some uber weird stuff in
there.

Reinvigorated, we mounted up and headed
to our first official scavenger-hunt site: the Cadillac Ranch. A
popular tourist spot, it's the Cadillac Stonehenge of West Texas
consisting of a line of 10 Caddys of assorted years buried snout
down. Once upon a time, you could actually identify the cars at which
you were gazing. Today, they are barely recognizable hulks covered
with graffiti. But costing us only about 30 minutes of travel time,
it was worth 100 scavenger-hunt points.

The Cadillac Ranch: much ado about nothing.

With the posted speed limit along most
of I-40 at 75 miles per hour, we felt 80 to 85 a reasonable pace.
Contacting our new-found buddies at OnStar, we were directed north on
Rt 385, through Dalhart and then onto Rt 87, where we clipped the
northeast corner of New Mexico before rolling into Colorado on I-25.

Rt 385 and Rt 87 in Texas seem to have
been laid out, paved and then forgotten by the locals. There was
literally no other traffic on long stretches of these two-lane
highways. It felt like we were on the raggedy edge of civilization. I
fully expected some sort of cobbled-together Mad Max vehicle with
zombie-like apocalypse survivors hanging all over it to come flying
over a rise in an attempt to hijack us. I was driving this portion
of our trip. We would crest a small rise and could see five or six
miles ahead to the next small rise. No traffic. No Officer
Friendlies. No reason not to air things out a little.

I won't go into detail, but suffice to
say, the Camaro is stable and smooth as silk even at higher speeds.
It was as much fun as I've ever had driving car.

Driving roughly 10 miles into Colorado,
we took an exit and pulled over to snap a photo. Unfortunately, the
sun had set 90 minutes earlier. What we got were photos of the
Camaro's headlights. We would have to trust Chevy's GPS check of our
car to verify our breaching the Colorado border.

Turning the reins back over to my
partner for the sprint back down I-25 to Santa Fe, I busied myself
with waking up the folks at OnStar to book rooms for the night.
Because it was already nearly7:00, and we had at least a
two-plus-hour slog to Santa Fe, we decided to overnight there. We had
yet to eat dinner and lunch was already about 250 miles in our
rearview mirror.

Like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, the dining room at La Fonda.

Each time we contacted OnStar, the
agent we spoke with was well aware who were were and what we were
doing. I suspected that Chevy issued parameters regarding the types
of hotels the agents could book us. When I told the agent we needed
two Santa Fe hotel rooms near the Plaza, he began rattling off names
like Four Seasons and La Fonda on the Plaza. Always wanting to stay
at La Fonda, we booked there. Our agent offered to provide
directions, but instead I asked for directions to the one
scavenger-hunt location in Santa Fe: the Palace of the Governors. We
figured as long as we were nearby, we might as well pick up its 100
points.

We parked within what we calculated to
be walking distance and set out looking for this historic site.
Expecting some sort of actual mansion, we walked by the thing twice
before realizing what looked all too much like a store front was the
Palace of the Governors. From the outside, it could have had “Better
Call Saul” stenciled on the door. We snapped a couple of photos and
walked back to the car.

Yep, it's the historic Palace of the Governors.

Contacting OnStar, we reached the same
agent who had booked our rooms. When I asked for directions to the
hotel, we could almost hear him sigh as he directed us a block up the
street. Yep, we were on the Plaza and didn't realize it. Our hotel
was easily visible from the Palace of the Governors. Quite the brain
trust in our little team.

Our Camaro's trip odometer turned over
exactly 800.00 miles as we pulled into a parking space in the hotel's
garage at about 9:30. Thankfully the hotel's restaurant was still
open and served up some wonderful Santa Fe Nut Brown Ale. We were
both ready for a beer!

We didn't have to turn in our Camaro
until 4 p.m. the following day. With Keith's early flight and our
determination to clock another 200 miles to reach 1,000, we decided I
would drop off Keith at the airport myself and then return the car to
save some time and rack up more miles. We did hit the 1,000-mile
mark.

Pulling into the designated spot to
drop off the car in downtown Albuquerque, I hung out for an hour or
so chatting up some of the Chevy PR folks as I waited for my niece
and her daughter to pick me up. I spent a few days in Albuquerque for
some R&R and to attend a family wedding.

I can't think of a better way to become
acquainted with the redesigned Camaro SS than this little adventure.
What a rush!

Sunday, December 13, 2015

I'm not the kind of guy who expects
everything to work perfectly all the time. I have more than enough –
actually way more than enough – experience in my rearview mirror to
appreciate that little glitches arise from time to time that simply
defy logic or explanation. I have also been around long enough to
realize there is little to be gained – other than scrubbing a few
minutes, hours or days from my life expectancy – by going ballistic
when things happen over which I have no control.

However, I am my father's son; so, I am
hard wired to go ballistic at the drop of a hat. I must confess that
once in a while a cock-eyed situation gets the better of me, and I do
lose it. Doc Budelmann tells me that this isn't good for my blood
pressure, nor my health in general. I sort of figured that, but a
paid medical professional confirming it, has done much to boost my
caution level to Defcon 4. Consequently, I try very hard to keep my
temper in check. (If I could, I'd insert a smiley-face emogi here.)

Here's the news flash: I am only human!
No matter how destructive I know losing my temper to be, sometimes
the situation simply overwhelms my impulse control and the spittle
flies. I had such an encounter Thursday as I slugged my way through
Atlanta's rush-hour traffic in an heroic attempt to join the fun at
the Greater Atlanta Automotive Media Association's (GAAMA) Christmas
party. Well, they've taken to calling it their “year end” party,
but that's another rant for another time.

Over the years I have attended three or
four of these GAAMA holiday galas, but I hadn't made the past couple.
It's a two-plus-hour slog to and from downtown Atlanta from sleepy
little Greenville, SC. Although I have become somewhat of an expert
traveling this route thanks to my countless trips to Atlanta's
airport, driving home at 10:00 or 11:00 at night is not my idea of
fun. Of course, I'm way too cheap to spring for a $150 hotel room.
Discretion being the better part of valor, I just skip the party.

This year, though, Nissan offered to
pick up my hotel room. Bless its heart! Because of Nissan's largesse,
I decided to break with recent tradition and put in an appearance.

My plan included driving directly to
the Marriott Courtyard Cumberland Galleria and checking in before
heading to the party roughly 10 miles away. I calculated that leaving
my house around 2:00 would get me to the hotel well before 5:00,
avoiding the worst of Atlanta rush hour. Sometimes I crack myself up.

I was hip deep in my upstairs
remodeling project when I realized it was already nearly 2:00. I
dropped what I was doing, hopped into the shower, dressed, threw my
suitcase into the GMC Sierra 1500 that I am driving this week and
managed to pull out of my driveway about 2:30. Already 30 minutes
behind my self-imposed schedule, I breathed deeply two or three times
and retained my calm.

To help pass the time on this drive,
I've sort of broken it up into more palatable segments. It's 46 miles
to the Georgia state line, another 25 miles to the Commerce, GA exit
with its huge outlet mall, and then another 30 or so miles to the
Buford exit: the point where I-85 spreads out from 8 lanes to 12
lanes for the final 10-mile sprint to Atlanta's I-285 outer belt.

About 10 miles before the Buford exit,
traffic on my side of I-85 came to a near standstill. Clearly there
was an accident somewhere ahead. Still doing its job quite adequately
at this point, the GMC's nav system had been warning me of the
traffic delay for about 50 miles, offering an alternative route. I
ignored the warnings, figuring whatever the issue, it would be
cleared by the time I arrived there. Not so much.

Finally heeding the nav's advice, I
took the next exit, followed the nav's 10-mile detour and returned to
I-85 a couple of miles from the Buford exit. I calculated that
between the stalled traffic, and the
over-the-river-and-through-the-woods detour, I lost about 45
minutes. Suddenly my strategy to beat the heaviest rush-hour traffic
– Atlanta's rush hour typically spans 6 a.m. to 8 p.m., but the
worst is just before and just after work – had been dashed.
Thankfully, I was going against the flow of commuters fleeing
downtown and traffic wasn't too bad.

Still only about 4:45, I was optimistic
I would arrive at the hotel in plenty of time to check in and meander
at a leisurely pace to the party with its 7 p.m. start time. I pressed
on.

There is a certain amount of mea culpa
in what happened next because I didn't fully research the location of
the hotel nor the party. I had no clue where either was located in
terms of greater Atlanta or their proximity to I-85 or I-285. Silly
me, I trusted the nav system to guide me to my destinations. What I
know now that I didn't know then is that the hotel is located almost
at the intersection of I-75 and I-285. All but about 3 miles of my
journey should have been freeway miles.

What happened next will go down in the
annals of the greatest effed-up nav-system snafus. For whatever reason, the nav
system decided to direct me off of I-85 about eight miles short of
I-285. I followed its prompts and found myself on a frontage road of
sorts that eventually turned into two lanes, winding through an
industrial park. Now I'm in the thick of rush hour, and traffic is
moving at a snail's pace on virtually every surface road in Atlanta.

At one point the street I was on
crossed Pleasantdale Road. I glanced to the left and saw an entrance
to I-85 S that I had been on earlier. The nav system guided me
another mile or so then commanded a left-hand turn. It took
me under I-85 where it had me turn left onto a frontage road along
northbound I-85. I followed its directions back to Pleasantdale Road
where it had me turn left again, cross over I-85 before taking
another left onto the I-85 S entrance ramp. What? It was as though
someone had poured a gallon of Old Grandad into the fuel tank. This
nav system was like a drunken sailor. It had no clue where it was or
where I needed to go. I had just lost another 30 or 40 minutes
leaving I-85, running on a crowded surface street parallel to I-85
and then reacquiring I-85 10 miles later. I was still several miles
short of I-285.

Reaching I-285, I was directed to take
it West. A glance at the digital clock revealed it was now 5:45. My
2-hour trip was at more than 3 hours and the nav system was showing me
still 20 miles from the hotel. About five miles into my I-285 stint,
the nav unit's voice command told me exit the freeway onto Rt. 141,
which also happens to be one of the myriad of Peachtree streets,
lanes, boulevards, avenues and courts scattered around Atlanta
proper.

As the digital clock ticked past 6:15
and the nav system had me making assorted left and right turns
through the surface-street congestion – a couple of times the nav touchscreen
actually showed the mileage to my destination increasing – I
finally had had enough. I suspected my blood pressure was somewhere
in the neighborhood of 220 over 195. The palm of my right hand ached
from smacking the steering wheel. I was ready to bitch slap a nun!

With the party scheduled to begin at
7:00 and the mileage to the hotel an estimated 10 miles, I decided to wait post-party to find the hotel. I pulled over,
entered the address to the party location, which actually was now
behind me, and drove directly there. Apparently the GMC's nav unit was
better equipped to find that address than that of the hotel because
it directed me there without incident.

It was now 6:30 and I had been on the
road for 4 hours. I felt like the passengers on the USS Minnow that
left for a 3-hour tour and wound up stranded on a desert island.
Ticked off? Oh, you bet.

Yes, sometimes I lose a little control;
but I think in this instance, it was justified.

Also, I think you would find me hanged
in my cubicle if I had to face driving through Atlanta traffic after
work every day. Life is way too short for that nonsense.

Sunday, December 6, 2015

I'm not the kind of guy to throw up my
hands and give up on a team that still has a shot at a Wild Card spot
in this year's NFL playoffs, but what in the wide, wide world of
sports is going on with the Steelers?

Never has so much talent been used to
so little effect.

Last week's game against the Seahawks
in Seattle was as frustrating a thing to watch as any Steelers fan
has had to endure. The horrendous officiating – are there no
officiating standards in the NFL? – and Tomlin's failed crazy
fake-field-goal call early in the game notwithstanding, the Steelers
managed to look terrible on offense in spite of Big Ben tossing for
456 yards. Ben, though, is not without blame; he also managed to
throw two interceptions that Seattle converted into points. Oh, and
despite only being on the field for a few plays, back-up QB Landry
Jones matched Ben's interception count.

The only bright spot in last week's
failed offensive effort was Markus Wheaton with over 200 receiving
yards. In Seattle, Steelers suffered from the same shortcoming that
has haunted them for the past couple of seasons: They can't turn Red
Zone penetrations into touchdowns. The offense is hell on wheels
getting into the Red Zone, but drives all too often sputter out
inside the 10-yard line and sometimes within the 5-yard line.
Settling for three rather than seven has become the norm.

On to the defense. There is a good
reason why the Steelers are ranked 28th in pass defense:
They can't defend against the pass. What a train wreck the secondary
is. Seattle QB Wilson threw with impunity last Sunday. His five
touchdown tosses accounted for nearly all of Seattle's points. It was
an embarrassing defensive performance.

So now what?

Steelers need an epiphany equal to
Saul's on the road to Damascus to turn this season around. Basically
they must run the table through the balance of the season to ensure a
Wild Card spot in the playoffs. A second meeting with the Browns is
the only gimme left this season. The Colts, Bengals, Broncos and
Ravens make up the rest of the schedule. It will be an uphill
struggle for a team that has run hot and cold through most of its
games.

My 4-1-1

I began covering the automotive industry in 1986, when I parlayed my position as a retail sales rep into helping conceptualize and establish a stand-alone automotive section for the Boca Raton News a Knight-Ridder newspaper in South Florida. In 1995 I moved to the Palm Beach Post to help develop its bi-weekly automotive pages. Leaving there in 2000, I freelanced car reviews to a variety of publications before assuming a senior editor position at AMI Autoworld magazine in 2001. While at AMI I helped launch NOPI Street Performance Compact magazine and was appointed its managing editor. I have been freelancing since leaving AMI in 2004. My regular outlets have included Hispanic Magazine, the Miami Herald, the Washington Times, the Journal-Register Newspapers, AAA Go magazine, MyCarData.com, Automotive Metrics, AutoTrader, Bankrate.com and Interest.com.

In addition to freelancing automotive reviews, from 1991 until 2001 I was supervising producer of the syndicated television series Discover America.